


Didn't really think this through, did you?

by cedarrapidsgirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reunion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarrapidsgirl/pseuds/cedarrapidsgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes his return to John at the hospital where he works. But how will everything work out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't really think this through, did you?

**Author's Note:**

> Another post Reichenbach fic, based on [this image](http://crgirl.tumblr.com/image/31795736195) of Martin Freeman. A WIP that I wanted to get out.

Sherlock Holmes was a coward. That’s what most people thought after the fall from St. Bart’s. Not that Sherlock ever cared about what other people thought about him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Sherlock cared what John Watson thought about him. And Sherlock was hoping, that after three years away, that John would still care enough for him to maybe not kill him this afternoon when Sherlock returned from the dead.

But, Sherlock had to admit, this was a rather cowardly way to see John again. He was going to reveal himself at the hospital where John worked, (not Bart’s obviously, even John wasn’t that strong.) Sherlock knew that John was there, and that it was really his day off, but of course John was in his office catching up on paperwork. Despite not having much contact with Mycroft during his chase around the world, when it counted, his brother’s spying could be good for something. At times. It helped him locate John when Sherlock was (mostly) ready to beg for forgiveness and back into John’s life again.

It was easy to get into the hospital and through the corridors to John’s office. He went in through the A&E entrance, slipped past some frazzled nurses, and from there it was an easy access to fire stairs to the sections of offices. After two flights, Sherlock breezed into a boring grey and beige toned corridor of doors, random chairs and offices. One, two, three, Sherlock counted in his head, and stopped short in front of the door on his right. Doctor John Watson, the nameplate read. It was just like all the other doors. But Sherlock knew that what happened behind this door would change his life forever. Again.

Not even bothering to knock, Sherlock opened the door, and for the first time in three years, came face to face with John Watson. Sherlock studied John, committing everything to memory. He wore wire rimmed glasses, (when had he started needing those) and had grown a scruffy beard. Gone were the layers of jumpers and shirts, today he was wearing a simple blue hooded sweatshirt. Sherlock couldn’t get over how different he looked. He looked so different. But yet he still looked like John. So familiar and comforting and just John.

John was standing behind his desk, and just stared. Sherlock stared too, not knowing what to say. He knew it would be a shock to John, and things might get thrown and broken, and that included him. Now that Sherlock thought about it, watching John stare with his mouth open, not blinking, looking for words and possibly projectiles, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

John gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white. Finally he broke his stare on Sherlock, looked down, and took a deep sigh, trying to compose himself. “How did you- What are you- But you-” John sighed again, and after about a minute, he looked up. His eyes were barely holding in the tears, but he managed to reach out one shaking hand to Sherlock.

Sherlock still said nothing, but moved forward quietly to the front of John’s desk, where he mirrored John’s stance, in front of the desk, while John’s hand came to rest on Sherlock’s upper arm. John needed to feel him, needed the tactile sensation, to feel the warmth of him, the blood moving through his body. John needed to know, beyond a doubt, that Sherlock was alive. Not some ghost or hallucination, but alive, really alive. Sherlock had to fight the urge to reach out and touch John as well, because for right now, John was touching him, and it was burning hot. John was holding his arm so tight that there would be bruises later, but Sherlock didn’t mind. It would be proof that John had touched him, left his mark. Because this could still end rather badly, Sherlock reminded himself. John could want nothing more to do with Sherlock. This could be the last time he ever was touched by John Watson, and Sherlock wanted to remember all of it.

Suddenly John dropped his hand and his head again. It seemed like an eternity for Sherlock, watching John trying to compose himself. Finally John pulled up his chair and sat in it heavily, taking off his glasses and threw them on the desk, and pressed his hands into his eyes.

“Go ahead, sit.” John said roughly. “God knows I needed to.” Sherlock sat in one of the chairs in the small office, the one closest to John’s desk and waited. John sighed, removed his hands from his face and grabbed a tissue from the desk, wiping at his eyes. He put his glasses back on and looked at Sherlock. “Well?”

Sherlock looked up at John, who was waiting. He had his fingers intertwined and his chin resting in his thumbs, elbows on the desk, still waiting.

“I, uh..” Sherlock hadn’t really thought about this part of the conversation, the explaining. He looked at his hands, wishing he had a cigarette or something to distract him so he wouldn’t have to think about feelings.”This, uh, this is hard.”

John shrugged and picked up some papers on his desk, straightening them into a neat pile. “I’ve got all day, Sherlock. I’m a doctor, no one in this building will bat an eye if I’m here for hours on my day off. I’ve always got paperwork to catch up on or journals to read. And I imagine you know just as well as I do that I don’t have anywhere else to be today. I’ve waited three years for you to come back, trust me, Sherlock, I’m very good at waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. I hate posting WIP's, because I'm honestly not a very consistent writer. My muse comes and goes, and when I get an idea, I write, but sometimes it's hard to finish. I like this so far, so hopefully with some time I can finish it.


End file.
